


As You Wish

by cobbvanth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bad Parenting, F/M, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobbvanth/pseuds/cobbvanth
Summary: After a threat is put on your life, your father sends you away to live with your aunt and uncle on Tatooine. Spoiled and unused to the farm life, your newest guard Boba 'helps' you adjust.The Princess Bride!AU
Relationships: Boba Fett & Reader, Boba Fett & You, Boba Fett x Reader, Boba Fett x You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	As You Wish

“Father, you can’t be serious.” 

You follow, forced to watch his back as he retreats down the polished hallway away from the outdoor plaza, heading towards the palace gates to deal with more official business in the Advisory Council. His footsteps, firm and purposeful in their stride, mark each burst of your frustrated thoughts as he continues to ignore your attempts at speaking to him and furthering this discussion; but for being in such a hurry after dropping a bomb like this, he either hadn’t anticipated your resistance and doesn’t know you as well as he should, he’s very bad at managing his time, or he just doesn’t want to hear it. 

“I am.” He huffs, glancing over his shoulder at you. “And I will not hear another word of complaint about it. I swear it if I do, I will lock you away in your quarters until the threat is dealt with myself.” 

For your benefit, he’s kept his explanation about this threat vague - disclosing only what he must without sacrificing the supposed severity of the situation. Anything else, however, he’s refusing to tell, even as you chase after him and beg to have your questions answered. 

“But I am already followed by an entourage of people! People that you yourself have hired and trust. Every single one of my waking moments is surveilled by at least one of them. Why must you add one more?” 

The only reason they aren’t with you now is because your father is in your presence. Once he leaves or manages to escape your questioning, they’ll arrive as if from out of nowhere. 

“Why must you be such a difficult child? Is it so horrible that I wish you protected?” 

“Smothered. I am smothered. I’d honestly prefer to be locked away if it meant for at least a second I’d get some time to myself.” 

The gates are coming into view and the guards situated at them stand at attention - stiff backed and staring straight ahead, dressed like red cockroaches with their blasters at their hips and their hands at their sides. Then the gates start to open, slowly and outwards, and you’ve never understood why such reverence is extended to him when he isn’t royalty - just tightly connected to the monarch as her minister of finance; replaceable, unworthy. He might as well be a kriffing court jester. At least then he’d be more entertaining that way. 

“Maker, forbid - you will lose that attitude at once. When the time comes, you must not embarrass me in front of this man or I’ll-” 

“You’ll what? Lock me away? You’ve already made that threat-” 

The minister pauses and looks up as if thinking. “No.” 

His answer is surprising. You stop too and suddenly realize just how serious he’s gotten. 

“No,” He repeats. “I will send you to live with your aunt and uncle on their farm. Yes, I think that’s what I’ll do.” 

You balk immediately. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“I would, and I shall. You’ll be safe there, away from the political upheaval and out of reach of my rivals.” 

“Father, please. My life is here. My friends are here. I haven’t been on that forsaken sithspit planet since I was a child. They don’t know me.” 

“Then you better get acquainted with your newest friend because he will be joining you to ensure that you remain there and protected.” 

“And if he disagrees? Then what?” 

“I am paying him enough that he won’t. You know, I expect much more from you than this childish display. It’s your mother’s fault for coddling you that you’ve turned out this way - spoiled and unappreciative. You have no idea the lengths I’ve gone to keep you well educated and clothed and safe and the sacrifices I’ve had to make to get here. I will not hear another utterance of complaint or so help me I will come up with something much worse than sand and banthas. Do you understand me?” 

Stunned into silence, you try very hard to keep the sting of his words from appearing on your face or in your voice - positive that you’re unsuccessful anyway with the way your face burns and the ball in your throat tightens. “Yes, father. I understand.” 

He softens slightly. “Good. Now go inside and get ready for dinner. My guest will be joining us then. We will discuss the issue of your transport and protection afterwards.” 

Your father takes a step forward, then kisses your forehead. As still as you can manage, you don’t so much as look at him as he continues. “I love you. Please, do not hate me. You’re my only daughter. My only child. I cannot allow something to happen to you when it can be prevented.” 

“You’re going to be late.” 

“Right.” He backs up and studies you, then looks more irritated than before. “Make sure to wear something more presentable. You’ve got a chocolate stain on your robes.” 

“Yes, father.” 

-

Abigail, your handmaiden, knocks softly on the door to your room where you’ve escaped, then a few moments after it opens to reveal that she’s holding a few pieces of jewelry to put in your hair and one of your mother’s necklaces; a small, iridescent pearl on a thin light gold chain purchased years ago from a shellwork jeweler just before you were born. You look at her at the sound of her entrance from where you’re seated at the vanity, having been studying the spot on your tunic, then sigh and turn away.

“I’m here to prepare you for dinner, my lady.” She starts to explain, softly closing the door shut behind her. “Your father requested that you wear the purple gown with this pendant. The one that-” 

“The one that _itches_. Of course he did.”

You’re sure he’s done this on purpose, likely because it will force you to sit upright so that the fabric doesn’t irritate your skin and make you squirm, as well as ensuring that you don’t slouch at the table; but, and this is what you believe to be his actual reason, to also ensure that you’re miserable. 

“The one that flatters you. But yes. Perhaps there is another more suitable?” Abbi sets the things in her hands down on your dresser and heads towards your closet, skimming through the long gowns folded neatly inside. She pauses at one of them. “This may work. Although I’m not sure it would be wise to displease him tonight.” 

The handmaiden comes away with a light blue satin dress you wore when your father was sworn in as Minister. His inauguration had been a big event, filled with people so important that their prominence had made them nearly obsolete. The quiet hands working diligently at the top - somehow both nameless and salient. In the moment, you lived off the attention. You enjoy the benefits of this life, but the consequences have made you sour; annoyed and angry. 

“It’s not wise to displease him at all.” You answer, leaning back in your chair. “Maker, I could be away and married and he’d still find a way to control me, given he hasn’t chosen my suitor already.” 

“If it’s any consolation, my lady. If he had, I’d know.” Abigail volleys back with a grin and you can’t help the way you smile back because it’s true, but it doesn’t last very long, and you look away again at the thought of this command he has over you never ending. 

Abigail’s been your only friend, the only one you can rely on and fully trust, that is - and perhaps that’s because she’s supposed to take care of you, but the circumstances of it doesn’t matter. You’re fond of her, and you know that you can have expectations that she won’t fail to meet because she’s always been there. She’s never made you feel small, or stupid, or like you don’t belong to yourself, so of course she notices that something has changed, and places the dress on your bed before heading over to you with an expression full of concern. “Are you alright, my lady?” 

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. Has something happened?”

“Abigail, _I’m fine_. I only wish you’d stop asking.” 

She frowns, but must accept that you want the subject dropped given the way she nods and reaches for the necklace, gently clasping it together around your throat. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to press. I don’t like seeing you so upset.” 

“It’s okay, I just - my father.” You fiddle with the pendant, twisting it between your fingers. 

“Ah. Yes, we were briefed on his plans for you, my lady.” 

“And?”

“And I should not speak out of term, but we are all sorry to have you leave us, and I do not believe this will be the best decision for you. We enjoy your company. You’d be better off remaining here.”

They’d be some of the only ones to think that, you realize. 

“The way he makes it seem, I’m a menace to be around and more trouble than I’m worth. I know I can be a lot, but it isn’t easy having my every movement monitored. I hope that I haven’t been too much for you.”

“Not at all, your ladyship. Although you can test our patience, I’m sure I can speak for many of us when I say we prefer the excitement you bring to sitting around and watching you read.” 

“Thank you, Abigail.”

She gently squeezes your shoulders and smiles at you through the mirror. “Of course. Promise to do your best to behave and stay out of danger. If not for your own safety, but for my well-being.” 

“You know I can’t promise anything.” You reflect her expression, placing your hands over her own. “But I suppose I can try.” 

“Thank you. That’s all I ask. Besides, I think you’ll want to make a good impression. I hear tell that the guest your father has invited has quite the reputation. And…that he’s not bad to look at, either.” 

You roll your eyes, swiveling around to face her. “Who did you hear that from? The reputation part I believe, but anyone who’s associated with my father is either so old it should be concerning how they’re still alive or made ugly by their greed.” 

“I wouldn’t dismiss him so quickly. Especially since you’ll be living with him for an unspecified amount of time.” 

“All the more reason.” 

“Is your plan to shut yourself up for the duration of your stay on Tatooine? You’ll be incredibly bored.” 

“I’d rather be bored than have to deal with another one of his would be spies. I can’t so much as swallow my spit without it being recounted to him that I nearly choked on it. If I do and say nothing, there’s nothing for him to use against me.” 

If this man is attractive, you’d hardly care. He’s still someone hired by your father to ruin your life. Handsome or not, that alone is ample enough reason to be cautious. 

“You know that you’re safe with me, my lady. You don’t have to be defensive. I’m only trying to make you realize that there’s always a different course, one that doesn’t involve making yourself miserable.” 

She’s right and you dislike it incredibly. Admitting that some of your anguish is partly due to your own actions isn’t something you’ll easily or readily concede to yourself or someone else. It would be much simpler to blame your father for every injustice you’ve been faced with, but that wouldn’t be accurate, or healthy to believe. Still, knowing these things and allowing them to be known are two different things. 

“…I’ll wear the dress.” 

“Good. Let me help you.” 

Abbi assists you with your frocks; ties your robes together, ensures that it’s not too uncomfortable and that the parts that itch the most are atop a barrier of soft fabric. When she’s finished, she takes a small step back. You look at yourself in the mirror and smooth your hands down the front of your dress. 

“I’m going to miss you, Abigail.” 

“I’m going to miss you too. While you’re down there, flirt with this mysterious man for me, will you? I’ve always been a sucker for the brooding, silent types.”

“Sure. Just as long as you enjoy the peace and quiet for me.” 

“You’ve got yourself a deal. Now get downstairs before our chattering makes you late.” 

“Bye, Abbi. Wish me luck.” 

“Good luck, my lady.” 

-

It will disappoint her to find out you’ve decided to skip on dinner, but you’re sure Abigail will find it in her heart to forgive you. Sweet woman she is, she’d probably find some way to say it was for the better. The kitchen was serving that awful chowder anyway. 

That’s what you’re consoling your guilt with, anyway. You hate disappointing her, but being honest with yourself is taking precedence over your desire to comply with her wishes for you. You wouldn’t survive dinner. That’s dramatic and untrue. You’d survive it, except you’d come away feeling more isolated than before, which as far as you’re concerned means that you hadn’t. You’re exhausted of it, of the way it makes you restless and irritated and sad all the time. And as you push through the garden to get to the back exit, you’re so focused on getting there and escaping these feelings that you don’t notice the figure around the corner until it’s too late - 

You don’t run into him. 

You don’t even catch a glimpse. 

Because if you had you wouldn’t have made such a reckless and stupid decision as scaling a fence. 

It is a lot harder to climb than you remember. A lot higher, too. The thick vines that cover it front and back are something of a comfort in that they, in a sort of placebo effect, have you believing that their presence is helping you in your ascent, but they’re not. Each foothold you manage to obtain means a bundle of stems to get your ankle stuck in and some of them have thorns - pricking your fingers and scratching your arms. 

Still, you persist. Half way up and you’re feeling proud of yourself. 

“Alright, I can totally do this. I am doing this. I’ll get over the fence, then I won’t have to see my nerf-herding father again.” 

Another foothold. You push yourself up. 

“Him and this stupid plan. It’s not like I should have any say in this, right? It’s not like I’m the one who should decide. Also, why should he have picked my bodyguard? I’d bet the man is some overblown, slimy, fuzzball, buckethead-“ 

The sheer outer layer of your gown gets caught and uneasily jostles your balance when you go to ascend further only to realize that you can’t. 

Groaning, you look and find that it’s impossibly stuck - if you want to continue up or down, you’ll have to tear it. “Stars, you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

Reaching down, the dress refuses to give even as you start to tug harder. You can hear it rip little by little, but the material is expensive, meant to resist something like this from happening, so it fights back with just as much vehemence as you’re combating it with until you’re so frustrated that you reach for it with your other hand, recognizing that you shouldn’t have let go only fast enough for your fingertips to skim the leaves. 

What breaks your fall isn’t the ground like you anticipated it to be, or even the hedges directly beneath the gate. 

It’s a body. A pair of arms and a chest, to be more precise. And for a second all you can focus on is that you’re not dead and that your mother is going to kill you for this; the pathetic purple see-through cloth billowing in the wind where it isn’t attached to thorns.

For a moment, nothing happens. You stare up into the sky, dark and peppered with stars, fluffy clouds surrounding the bright moon, too shocked to do much more than breathe. Then. 

“Put me down right this second! Who do you think you are? What are you doing in the palace-“ 

The stranger complies, setting you to your feet. Having already been squirming, you’re flying away from him as soon as you touch the ground, desperate to maintain a distance between you and this trespasser. 

“I am the overblown, slimy, fuzzball, buckethead that just saved your life, Princess. Unless it had been your intention to fall and tear your dress. If so, my apologies.” 

“Guards! Guards! There’s an-“

“You’re wasting your breath. I’m not an intruder.” 

“Why should I believe you? Guards!” 

“Call your guards. Might I suggest having an excuse ready for why you’re here and not in the dining hall.” 

You close your mouth and stare at him closely. 

“Relax. Let’s have a chat.” 

“I know why I’m here. Now explain why you are.” 

“Dinner with Minister of Finance Luca, your father.” 

Oh, Maker this is just your luck. 

“ _You._ ” Pointing a finger at him, your ire at this whole situation renews itself. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Or with anyone, for that matter.” 

“I don’t believe that’s your decision.” 

“I don’t care what you do or do not believe-“ 

“It’s not mine, either.” 

You stop talking, perplexed and annoyed by what he could mean by that; irritated that it’s both true and untrue. 

Boba approaches. And instead of backing up like you’d like, you remain cemented in your spot, watching. 

Slowly, gingerly, he picks a leaflet from your hair. 

“Clean yourself up. I’ll occupy the Minister long enough for you to make yourself presentable.” 

“…Thank you.” 

Neither of you step away.

He makes the first move yours by staying where he is - directly in front of you, motionless, and normally you’d be stubborn enough to wait for the other person to break, but with the clock ticking you’re forced to side step and glance at him quickly, wondering what exactly you’ve found yourself in before scurrying off in the direction of the main house - incredibly aware of his gaze on your back. 

-

“Ah! There you are. And…appropriately garmented.” The pitch in your father’s voice is so artificial and forced that you stifle the urge to laugh in his face, which is easy given you’re aware your appearance isn’t entirely up to his satisfaction despite what he says. “Good. Come meet your bodyguard. He will be companioning you on your journey to Tatooine, as well as remaining on your uncle’s property until you can safely return.” 

He guides you over to Boba. You discover another leaf in your hair and get rid of it quickly. 

“Mr. Fett, my daughter.” 

You make eye contact with him and bow, a custom you’ve always hated, at your father’s introduction. 

Boba’s ability to keep his face both impassive and filled with mirth is impressive. “Yes, we’ve met.” 

The elder man stiffens. “Oh? How’s that?” 

“In the garden.” 

“Oh.” He quickly fixes his expression, but you caught the flash of disagreement in his face regardless - replaced by something more placating and neutral. You’d kill Fett with your bare hands in this moment. 

“Your father has told me much about you. It is good to put a face to the name. For the second time.” 

Bristled, you answer. “Not too much, I hope.” 

“Only positive things.”

That’s curious. His motives surely didn’t lie in your benefit and remained strictly within the bounds of his own self interest. Your mother would pitch a fit if he was forced to send you away with someone less qualified than the best, so to avoid having to listen to his wife’s ire lest have to keep you at home, he probably spent the better part of however long they discussed you polishing away your flaws like a scratched piece of silverware in an attempt to cover them up. How thoughtful of him and how eager you are to subvert them. 

“That sounds very unlike you, father. You must forgive him for lying, Mr. Fett. He is inclined to embellish the truth in the Galactic Senate, but I’m afraid it’s beginning to spread into his personal affairs. If you pressed him, I’m sure he’d confess I’m the most impossible woman he knows.” 

“I like the exciting ones-“

Noticing that the conversation is getting away from him, the Minister quickly interrupts. 

“That’s enough. Let’s sit.” 

“I have sent word to your aunt and uncle that you’ll be arriving sometime tomorrow. Your things are being packed as we speak. Fett here will escort you to the spaceport and see that you arrive. Do not try anything. Maker knows I’m paying him enough already - I shouldn’t have to compensate for any damages you might inflict on your journey.” 

“I should apologize to you in advance that I cannot predict my behavior on a trip that has not happened yet. If it’s that much of a financial burden on you, perhaps you shouldn’t send me away at all and shut me inside as we previously discussed.” 

Your mother says your name, stern but not ungentle. You look at her in disbelief. 

“I will do what I must to not have you killed! End of discussion. Please forgive my daughter for her outburst. She clearly hasn’t learned to hold her tongue.” 

“It is good to know what I’m up against.” 

Your father hums. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

-

Theed Spaceport is situated on the outskirts of the capital city - about forty kilometers from the Great Grass Plains, flanked by two massive waterfalls attached to the Solleu River. You’ve been here maybe once or twice in all your life to greet family members or other important members of Naboo’s government. You were only a small child, filled with the same frustration as you are now, but it was much easier to explain away your anger then, than it is to currently as an adult. You enjoy all the amenities of such a luxurious life, yet hate it all the same. For as long as you could remember, you’ve longed for something normal. No tutors. No servants. No one to follow you around, remarking on your every move. In passing, you’ve envied the citizens you’d see in the streets or visiting the Royal House - they always looked happy, content. You’d imagine you were able to taste their freedoms, watching them. 

But then you’d be reminded that you, theoretically, have everything you could ever want. And be ushered away. 

“It’s so busy. I don’t know how anyone knows where they’re going.” 

“We are at a spaceport. Spaceports are busy.” 

“It’s overwhelming, is all. I’ve spent most of life carefully guarded. Crowds are…they seem unpleasant.” Scary is the better word, but you aren’t about to give him further ammunition to make fun of you with; it’s enough that he believes you to be a spoiled palace brat. No need to add sheltered and ignorant to the working title. 

“I am not fond of them myself, but they can be useful. Don’t worry, my lady. I will ensure that you do not get lost.” 

“I suppose you should, given that you’re being paid for it. Can’t believe he thinks he can just do this to me. Stupid, nerd-herding man. You know, I’d be better equipped to face the world if he actually gave me the tools to do so instead of locking me away or sending me off to planets with nothing more than banthas.” 

“If it’s any consolation, Princess, I make better company than banthas.” 

“I’m not a princess. And I’d appreciate it if you did not address me as such.” 

“As you wish.” 

Boba guides you to the gate and remains behind you as you step onto the platform. An attendant offers to take your bag, but she’s intercepted by Boba - who tells her that he can handle it himself. Her polite smile wavers, and for a moment you think she might insist before she simply nods and offers the same to another passenger. 

“Why couldn’t she help us? Now we’ll be stuck with our luggage.” 

“If I explain everything I do while in your service, I’ll spend most of my time talking rather than doing my job.” 

“But we’ll be cramped in our compartment.” 

“Such is life.” 

Your father couldn’t have chosen anyone better suited? Perhaps Boba’s sarcasm would be bearable if he weren’t so serious all the time. It’s a relief he takes his job seriously, so perhaps better suited isn’t exactly part of the mental check-list you’ve started in your head, assessing all the characteristics you wish this man had that would make this even a modicum more enjoyable. Funny is one of them. Less handsome, surprisingly, is one too because on top of being intimidated by his stoicness, you’re daunted by how true the rumors had been. If only Abigail were here to see you now. She’d be desperately whisper-shouting ‘I told you so!’ from over the mercenary’s shoulder. 

“Such is life.” You repeat. “Such is this could have been avoided if you just let the lady take our things.” 

“Princess, I know you have a brain underneath all that pretty hair. Use it.” 

“Mr. Fett, if your aim is to insult me I’ve been told much worse by people far more important.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not being paid to insult you. If you’re going to ask questions, I want you to work through them first before wasting your breath and my time.” 

The compartment is as small as you pictured, with a row of seats on either side and a large viewport directly in front of the entrance. With all your belongings, you’ll be pressed for space, begrudgingly forcing you to take up a spot next to him. 

“I still don’t see how she was a threat.” 

“Maybe she wasn’t.” 

“Maker, what? Fett-“

He gently pushes past you and sets your things down. 

“But perhaps she could have been. You have a target on your back. Blindly interacting with strangers because it’s convenient could mean the end of your life.” 

You’d like, so much, for him to shut up. 

“Precautions, Princess.” Boba settles into the small corner made between the seat and the side of the cruiser, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. “Get comfortable. We’ll be here for awhile.”


End file.
